


come and knock on my door

by thegoodlannister



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon Non-Binary Character, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Dynamics, Gen, Homelessness, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Klaus Hargreeves Deserves Better, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Protective Diego Hargreeves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 09:56:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18092177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegoodlannister/pseuds/thegoodlannister
Summary: it's winter and diego rescues klaus. then there is breakfast.





	come and knock on my door

**Author's Note:**

> written because of a tumblr post that was like KLAUS HARGREEVES IS TOO SKINNY HE NEEDS A HAPPY MEAL. and I was all hell yeah he does, let's give him one.

“Eat.”

He slams the plate of pancakes down with enough force that the table jumps, and his brother along with it. Klaus is jittery now, twitchy, tearing at the edges of his nails between his teeth, and as he scoots forward to balance on the edge of his chair, Diego can see his eyes are clear, which means he’s coming down from whatever the hell he was on last night when Diego picked him up.

“Awww, Di, you shouldn’t have-”

This time, it’s his own coffee mug that he slams down on the table. “I said, eat the goddamn pancakes, Klaus.” 

Diego can hear his own voice, somewhere between tired and terse, and he scrubs a hand over his eyes, feels the dryness of his palm catch on his stubble. He hasn’t closed his eyes, hasn’t had time to shower or shave since he dragged Klaus off the bench he found him on early this morning, way before the sun was up.

Across the table, Klaus holds up his hands in mock surrender ( _hello and goodbye,_ Diego thinks). Dutifully, he cuts a corner off the stack of pancakes and drowns the bite in so much syrup it makes Diego’s teeth ache before stuffing the whole thing into his mouth. He smiles. He’s making a point.

His brother has lost weight since Diego’s last seen him. That seems to be the way it goes; each time he lays eyes on Klaus, he’s thinner. Has lost five, seven, ten pounds he never had to lose to begin with. Addiction’s a bitch like that.

Klaus’ fingers are wiry and restless on the coffee mug Diego has given him, the veins on the backs of his hands as prominent and purple as bruises. “Damn bro, these are good,” he says, talking around a mouthful of food that he washes down with a swallow of coffee. Almost immediately he’s cutting another thick slice and shoveling it in, like someone who hasn’t eaten in days. Diego focuses on the birdcage of his chest, moving up and down under the sequined top he hasn’t changed out of yet and thinks he might as well be. 

“You’ve been practicing.” Klaus gestures with his fork using one hand, flinging syrup, the other drumming a tattoo on the side of his mug.

“You’ve always liked my cooking,” Diego argues, because that comes easy, because that’s what he’s supposed to do.

Klaus barks out a laugh at that, sticky fingers in his hair now, his eyes darting to look at something Diego doesn’t see. “You,  _uh_ , you got me there,” he chuckles, low, exposing a rattle Diego can’t ignore in his chest, and suddenly Diego is gripping the table hard enough that it creaks, trying very hard not to remember how cold Klaus had felt when he found him that morning, wrapped in someone else’s shawl, crocheted, and with tights on - fucking  _tights_ in twenty degree weather. The pair of booty shorts he’d been wearing over them had left very little to the imagination.

It had been difficult to wake him up, Klaus all lanky, uncoordinated limbs and his fingers so stiff with cold Diego had hardly been able to pry them from the slats of the bench he’d wrapped them around. (Klaus had always slept better when tethered to something.)

When finally he’d roused Klaus enough that he was able to be of some help in getting himself upright, Diego had noticed his fingertips were blue. Years ago now, in Academy, when he thought he would be a cop, Diego had been through search and rescue training. Thirty minutes more, he knew, maybe an hour tops, and Klaus would have been dealing with legitimate frostbite instead of the slight blistering he was sporting on the pads of his fingers and the dusting of windburn across his cheeks. He was damn lucky.

Between bites of pancake, Klaus offers him a goofy half-smile, tilting his head like he’s reading Diego’s thoughts. Hell, maybe he is for all Diego knows - and then, without his meaning to, Diego’s hands are shooting out to catch his brother’s, a sticky trail of syrup following Klaus’ fork as it falls to the table.

Holding his brother’s hands, inspecting them for the signs of more severe frostbite he already knows aren’t there, Diego thinks of Patch. Of her kind, brown eyes and her sometimes, when she feels like it, easy smile. Of her straight, white teeth and of the fact that she still knows enough to call him first when someone matching Klaus’ description is found sleeping outside, high off his ass or not.

He thinks of how still Klaus had been on that bench.

“You’re staying here,” he says, gruff, decided. He’s been left holding his brother’s chapped hands, and Klaus isn’t pulling away, just looking at them, so it’s Diego who gets up to start on another stack of pancakes. Klaus is already halfway through his plate and doesn’t look like he’ll be slowing down anytime soon, anyway, and Diego is reaching for the milk when a hand catches his sleeve.

“No, Di, I-” Klaus’ throat clicks as he swallows, looking searchingly at Diego. His lip is split - whether from the cold last night or because he’s run his mouth off one too many times around junkies bigger than he is, Diego isn’t sure - and his tongue darts out to lick the place where it stings.

Diego swallows too, forces himself to speak before he can change his mind. “It doesn’t have to be f-forever,” he says, gritting his teeth, willing away the stutter the way Mom taught him to. “Just until this cold snap breaks, then you can run back off to wherever the hell it is you go when you’re not with me. But you are  _not_  sleeping outside in that-” and when he points to his only window, glass planes opaque with creeping frost, his finger shakes almost as badly as Klaus’, “again tonight.”

For a few moments, there is only the sizzle of batter on the griddle and the scrape of Klaus’ fork against his plate. It’s enough time for Diego to decide he’s gone too far, said too much, to prepare himself for Klaus to vault out of the chair and out of his life, like he’s so good at. And then, quietly: “You expect me to stay in this shithole, I’m gonna need some new sheets.”

The words are flippant, like Klaus himself, but there’s a catch in them that Diego recognizes, and when he turns away from the single burner, Klaus is looking up at him, eyes wide and wet, unblinking, like he’s asking for something. He’s wrapped his arms around himself, but the tremors running through his arms don’t stop. His whole body shakes with him.

Diego shrugs. “I have an idea. How about I wash the ones you’ve got, and you  _say gee, thanks, Diego, you’re a great brother?”_ He huffs fondly and adds,  _“_ asshole. _”_

The way the corner of his mouth twitches up as he says it is met with an answering smile from Klaus, and just as his brother shudders again, Diego balls up a blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it to him. By the time he’s back at work in front of the burner, Klaus is already snuggled into its warmth, drawing his feet up underneath him and sighing happily.

Flipping a pancake, Diego finally allows the other side of his mouth to quirk up. 

It might not be forever, but it’s for now - and now is enough.

_~End._


End file.
